_AUNT CLARA'S PLAN._
Being seriously alarmed by the fear of losing the desire of his heart,
Charlie had gone resolutely to work, and, like many another young
reformer, he rather overdid the matter; for, in trying to keep out of
the way of temptation, he denied himself much innocent enjoyment. The
artistic fit was a good excuse for the seclusion which he fancied
would be a proper penance; and he sat listlessly plying crayon or
paint-brush, with daily wild rides on black Brutus, which seemed to do
him good; for danger of that sort was his delight.
People were used to his whims, and made light of what they considered
a new one; but, when it lasted week after week and all attempts to
draw him out were vain, his jolly comrades gave him up, and the family
began to say approvingly,--"Now he really _is_ going to settle down
and do something." Fortunately, his mother let him alone; for though
Dr. Alec had not "thundered in her ear," as he threatened, he _had_
talked with her in a way which first made her very angry, then
anxious, and, lastly, quite submissive; for her heart was set on her
boy's winning Rose, and she would have had him put on sackcloth and
ashes if that would have secured the prize. She made light of the
cause of Rose's displeasure, considering her extremely foolish and
straitlaced; "for all young men of any spirit had their little vices,
and came out well enough when the wild oats were sowed." So she
indulged Charlie in his new vagary, as she had in all his others, and
treated him like an ill-used being, which was neither an inspiring nor
helpful course on her part. Poor soul! she saw her mistake by and by,
and when too late repented of it bitterly.
Rose wanted to be kind, and tried in various ways to help her cousin,
feeling very sure she should succeed as many another hopeful woman has
done, quite unconscious how much stronger an undisciplined will is
than the truest love; and what a difficult task the wisest find it to
undo the mistakes of a bad education. But it was a hard thing to do:
for, at the least hint of commendation or encouragement, he looked so
hopeful that she was afraid of seeming to promise too much; and, of
all things, she desired to escape the accusation of having trifled
with him.
So life was not very comfortable to either just then; and, while
Charlie was "mortifying soul and body" to please her, she was studying
how to serve him best. Aunt Jessie helped her very much, and no one
guessed, when they saw pretty Miss Campbell going up and down the hill
with such a serious face, that she was intent on any thing except
taking, with praiseworthy regularity, the constitutionals which gave
her such a charming color.
Matters were in this state, when one day a note came to Rose from Mrs.
Clara.
"MY SWEET CHILD,--Do take pity on my poor boy, and cheer him
up with a sight of you; for he is so _triste_ it breaks my
heart to see him. He has a new plan in his head, which
strikes me as an excellent one, if you will only favor it.
Let him come and take you for a drive this fine afternoon,
and talk things over. It will do him a world of good and
deeply oblige
"Your ever loving
"AUNT CLARA."
Rose read the note twice, and stood a moment pondering, with her eyes
absently fixed on the little bay before her window. The sight of
several black figures moving briskly to and fro across its frozen
surface seemed to suggest a mode of escape from the drive she dreaded
in more ways than one. "That will be safer and pleasanter," she said,
and going to her desk wrote her answer.
"DEAR AUNTY,--I'm afraid of Brutus; but, if Charlie will go
skating with me, I should enjoy it very much, and it would
do us both good. I can listen to the new plan with an
undivided mind there; so give him my love, please, and say I
shall expect him at three.
"Affectionately,
"ROSE."
Punctually at three, Charlie appeared with his skates over his arm,
and a very contented face, which brightened wonderfully as Rose came
downstairs in a seal-skin suit and scarlet skirt, so like the one she
wore years ago that he involuntarily exclaimed as he took her
skates,--
"You look so like little Rose I hardly know you; and it seems so like
old times I feel sixteen again."
"That is just the way one ought to feel such a day as this. Now let us
be off and have a good spin before any one comes. There are only a few
children there now; but it is Saturday, you know, and everybody will
be out before long," answered Rose, carefully putting on her mittens
as she talked: for her heart was not as light as the one little Rose
carried under the brown jacket; and the boy of sixteen never looked at
her with the love and longing she read in the eyes of the young man
before her.
Away they went, and were soon almost as merry and warm as the children
round them; for the ice was in good condition, the February sunshine
brilliant, and the keen wind set their blood a-tingle with a healthful
glow.
"Now tell me the plan your mother spoke of," began Rose, as they went
gliding across the wide expanse before them; for Charlie seemed to
have forgotten every thing but the bliss of having her all to himself
for a little while.
"Plan? Oh, yes! it is simply this. I'm going out to father next
month."
"Really?" and Rose looked both surprised and incredulous; for this
plan was not a new one.
"Really. You don't believe it, but I am; and mother means to go with
me. We've had another letter from the governor, and he says if she
can't part from her big baby to come along too, and all be happy
together. What do you think of that?" he asked, eying her intently;
for they were face to face, as she went backward and he held both her
hands to steer and steady her.
"I like it immensely, and I do believe it now: only it rather takes my
breath away to think of aunty's going, when she never would hear of it
before."
"She doesn't like the plan very well now, and consents to go only on
one condition."
"What is that?" asked Rose, trying to free her hands; for a look at
Charlie made her suspect what was coming.
"That you go with us;" and, holding the hands fast, he added rapidly,
"Let me finish before you speak. I don't mean that any thing is to be
changed till you are ready; but if _you_ go I'm willing to give up
every thing else, and live anywhere as long as you like. Why shouldn't
you come to us for a year or two? We've never had our share. Father
would be delighted, mother contented, and I the happiest man alive."
"Who made this plan?" asked Rose, as soon as she got the breath which
certainly _had_ been rather taken away by this entirely new and by no
means agreeable scheme.
"Mother suggested it: I shouldn't have dared to even dream of such
richness. I'd made up my mind to go alone; and when I told her she was
in despair, till this superb idea came into her head. After that, of
course it was easy enough for me to stick to the resolution I'd made."
"Why did _you_ decide to go, Charlie?" and Rose looked up into the
eyes that were fixed beseechingly on hers.
They wavered and glanced aside; then met hers honestly, yet full of a
humility which made her own fall as he answered very low,--
"Because I don't _dare_ to stay."
"Is it so hard?" she said pitifully.
"Very hard. I haven't the moral courage to own up and face ridicule,
and it seems so mean to hide for fear of breaking my word. I _will_
keep it this time, Rose, if I go to the ends of the earth to do it."
"It is not cowardly to flee temptation; and nobody whose opinion is
worth having will ridicule any brave attempt to conquer one's self.
Don't mind it, Charlie, but stand fast; and I am sure you will
succeed."
"You don't know what it is, and I can't tell you; for till I tried to
give it up I never guessed what a grip it had on me. I thought it was
only a habit, easy to drop when I liked: but it is stronger than I;
and sometimes I feel as if possessed of a devil that _will_ get the
better of me, try as I may."
He dropped her hands abruptly as he said that, with the energy of
despair; and, as if afraid of saying too much, he left her for a
minute, striking away at full speed, as if in truth he would "go to
the ends of the earth" to escape the enemy within himself.
Rose stood still, appalled by this sudden knowledge of how much
greater the evil was than she had dreamed. What ought she to do? Go
with her cousin, and by so doing tacitly pledge herself as his
companion on that longer journey for which he was as yet so poorly
equipped? Both heart and conscience protested against this so strongly
that she put the thought away. But compassion pleaded for him
tenderly; and the spirit of self-sacrifice, which makes women love to
give more than they receive, caused her to feel as if in a measure
this man's fate lay in her hands, to be decided for good or ill
through her. How should she be true both to him and to herself?
Before this question could be answered, he was back again, looking as
if he had left his care behind him; for his moods varied like the
wind. Her attitude, as she stood motionless and alone with downcast
face, was so unlike the cheerful creature who came to meet him an hour
ago, it filled him with self-reproach; and, coming up, he drew one
hand through his arm, saying, as she involuntarily followed him,--
"You must not stand still. Forget my heroics, and answer my question.
Will you go with us, Rose?"
"Not now: that is asking too much, Charlie, and I will promise
nothing, because I cannot do it honestly," she answered, so firmly
that he knew appeal was useless.
"Am I to go alone, then, leaving all I care for behind me?"
"No, take your mother with you, and do your best to reunite your
parents. You could not give yourself to a better task."
"She won't go without you."
"I think she will if you hold fast to your resolution. You won't give
that up, I hope?"
"No: I must go somewhere, for I can't stay here; and it may as well be
India, since that pleases father," answered Charlie, doggedly.
"It will more than you can imagine. Tell him all the truth, and see
how glad he will be to help you, and how sincerely he will respect you
for what you've done."
"If you respect me, I don't care much about the opinion of any one
else," answered Charlie, clinging with a lover's pertinacity to the
hope that was dearest.
"I shall, if you go manfully away, and do the duty you owe your father
and yourself."
"And, when I've done it, may I come back to be rewarded, Rose?" he
asked, taking possession of the hand on his arm, as if it was already
his.
"I wish I could say what you want me to. But how can I promise when I
am not sure of any thing? I don't love you as I ought, and perhaps I
never shall: so why persist in making me bind myself in this way? Be
generous, Charlie, and don't ask it," implored Rose, much afflicted by
his persistence.
"I thought you did love me: it looked very like it a month ago, unless
you have turned coquette, and I can't quite believe that," he answered
bitterly.
"I _was_ beginning to love you, but you made me afraid to go on,"
murmured Rose, trying to tell the truth kindly.
"That cursed custom! What _can_ a man do when his hostess asks him to
drink wine with her?" And Charlie looked as if he could have cursed
himself even more heartily.
"He can say 'No.'"
"I can't."
"Ah, that's the trouble! You never learned to say it even to yourself;
and now it is so hard you want me to help you."
"And you won't."
"Yes, I will, by showing you that I _can_ say it to myself, for your
sake." And Rose looked up with a face so full of tender sorrow he
could not doubt the words which both reproached and comforted him.
"My little saint! I don't deserve one half your goodness to me; but I
will, and go away without one complaint to do my best, for your sake,"
he cried, touched by her grief, and stirred to emulation by the
example of courage and integrity she tried to set him.
Here Steve and Kitty bore down upon them; and, obeying the impulse to
put care behind them which makes it possible for young hearts to ache
one minute and dance the next, Rose and Charlie banished their
troubles, joined in the sport that soon turned the lonely little bay
into a ballroom, and enjoyed the splendors of a winter sunset,
forgetful of separation and Calcutta.